


Subtle

by Moriartied



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Elounor referenced, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Obliviousness, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Saccharine levels of cute, seriously it's gross I need to go write a novel's worth of angst now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartied/pseuds/Moriartied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has been pining over Harry for four years. Zayn has almost given up. Harry takes subtlety to extreme levels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subtle

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this months ago but could never figure out a good way to end it so it just sat there. Boredom at work led me to an organization frenzy and I wanted to clear out my notes sooo here you go, a stupid fluffy distraction from babygate. (This was written before the Elounor break-up lols).

"I want to get wasted and make out with people."

Zayn looks up at him from his place on the beanbag next to the couch. They're playing FIFA and Zayn is losing, but he doesn't care.

"That's what you always want."

Louis huffs. "Yeah, and I never get to do it."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Because whenever you get drunk you hook up with _guys_ and that kind of defeats the whole Eleanor thing."

Louis jabs his finger down a little to hard on the controller. "She's driving me nuts."

Zayn gives him an apologetic smile. "I know, buddy. But you gotta hang in there. Just until we figure out a way to break the contract without being completely destroyed."

Louis nods, eyes straight ahead on the flatscreen. Eleanor was nice enough in the beginning. But she was young and she hadn't really realized what she was signing up for. Committing herself to a fake relationship with a boy who was most definitely not into her. Signing away her chance at real love by tying herself to a closeted celebrity. She was constantly in the media, constantly scrutinized, constantly torn apart by fans. And what was she getting out of it? A free ride to university, but not much else.

Things had been fine between them until recently. Well, not fine, but civil. Then Eleanor had had to fuck it all up, tell him she'd developed _feelings_ for him, and if he just gave it a chance, maybe they could be something real.

Louis, feeling like he'd been slammed in the gut with a sack of bricks, had snapped back, "Unless you grow a dick, it's not happening," which had sent El off in tears.

Louis wins the match and tosses his controller onto the couch, head dropping back as he brings his palms up to rub his eyes. "It's so fucking _stupid_ ," he groans for what's probably the 900th time. Zayn is used to this. It's part of the job description as Louis Tomlinson's best friend, he figures. Louis likes to complain. It's probably his favorite pastime next to football, honestly. And Zayn's the best listener. Because he rarely gives his personal input, and usually just lets Louis talk until he works things out for himself. Sometimes Louis wishes he could just date Zayn, but Zayn's straight as an arrow. A very slightly bent arrow that's experimented a few times, but an arrow nonetheless.

Straight people suck, in Louis' opinion. Except Zayn. Zayn's the best. But Eleanor sucks, and Liam mostly sucks, and Niall usually sucks, and Harry, well, Harry is the suckiest sucker of all.

As if on cue his phone buzzes in his back pocket and he takes it out to read the text. It's a picture of Harry and some random models at a club, a blurry selfie taken at a terrible angle, and Harry's making a stupid duck face. He's captioned it "miss you" with a crying emoji, and Louis makes a noise of displeasure. He chucks the phone at Zayn who barely gets his hand up before it collides with his face.

"See, he gets to get drunk and make out with people."

Zayn looks at the picture. "Those girls look busted. You really want to hook up with them?"

Louis groans. "No, I wanna make out with _him_."

And there it is. The real root of all Louis' angst. The problem that they always circle back to eventually.

Zayn places the phone back up next to him on the couch.

"So tell him that."

Louis glares. They've been over this more times than he can count. "Can't."

Zayn presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Won't," he counters.

Louis shrugs. Same thing.

Zayn's got arguments for days as to why Louis should just man up and tell Harry how he feels instead of pining himself into misery, starting with the fact that that photo was clearly an invitation, but he knows the boy won't even listen so he just sits there, waiting for the conversation to go the way it always does.

"Fine if I can't make out with people, then we're getting high and forgetting about everything."

Zayn doesn't fight. He's already got his bag of weed out of his pocket and is reaching for his papers to roll a joint.

High Louis is a lot less mopey than sober Louis. Zayn almost feels like he has his best friend back, the one he met four years ago, who was happy and carefree and not beaten down by unrequited love and stifling conditions from management.

Louis takes a long drag from the blunt when Zayn passes it to him, letting the smoke curl out slowly from his lips. He sprawls out more on the couch, ignoring his phone as it buzzes again.

Time flows strangely when he's stoned. He can't tell whether it feels like it's been hours or seconds when there's a knock on the door. Zayn's eating a bag of sweet and spicy Doritos on the floor, fingers and lips covered in orange dust and looking like he's having the best sex of his life right now, so Louis staggers up from the couch, groaning as he shuffles to the door.

"What do you want," he mutters, leaning his forehead against the door. They don't have a peephole for some reason and Louis used to like it because it was like a magic surprise whenever you open the door, but right now he'd kind of like to know who it is because wow it could be the cops or like his mom or something and that would not be good because he is _so_ high.

Just as his paranoia is about to send him into a catatonic state, he hears shuffling outside. "S'me. Harry," comes the slurred voice from the other side of the door.

Louis doesn't move to open it.

"Can you let me in? 'M drunk."

Louis thunks his head against the door, but his hand goes to the knob, pulling it open for the other boy who stumbles inside. Harry makes a face, wrinkling his nose as he stops a few feet into the room.

"Smells like a skunk died."

Louis closes the door, not looking at Harry. "I'd offer you some but we smoked it all."

Harry sticks his tongue out in disgust. "You know I don't do that."

Louis shrugs. "Yeah you just get plastered and eat skeezy models' faces." It comes out before he means it to. No filter whatsoever when he's like this.

Zayn finally seems to realize someone else is in the room and sits up, still holding the bag of chips tightly to his chest like it's going to run away from him.

Harry and Louis stare at each other. Shots fired. Louis shifts, not sure what to do with his hands. Harry looks at his feet.

"Shouldn't have come. 'M sorry," he mumbles.

Louis agrees but he doesn't say anything.

Zayn watches transfixed like it's the season finale of a soap opera. This is his moment. This is when it's all going to happen. If these two idiots can get their shit together that is. Zayn scrunches his nose. He wouldn't put his money on that. It's been four years already and if they haven't already figured out they're madly in love with each other, they probably never will. Zayn feels the urge to start chanting "kiss, kiss, kiss," but he manages to hold himself back, eating another chip instead, then pausing as he realizes how loud his chewing is echoing in the near silent room.

"What do you want, Harry?" Louis asks, the pleasant numb feeling from earlier starting to wear off.

Harry shrugs, hunching his shoulders like he's trying to make himself smaller. It's not working, because Harry is a freaking giraffe, but it's cute as fuck and Louis wants to smack him and make him stop.

"Don't know. Was drunk. Started walking and ended up here."

"Oh for the love of god," Zayn exclaims, suddenly leaping up from the floor. Both the boys jump, turning towards him with wide eyes. They don't think they've ever heard Zayn raise his voice at all before. Zayn looks a little sheepish. "'M going to bed, Lou. You two... Jesus Christ. Just work it out already." And with that he's spinning off towards the bedroom, taking his chips with him.

Louis looks back at Harry, brow furrowed, as if the other boy has some secret knowledge about what the hell Zayn is going on about that he's hiding from Louis. Harry looks just as confused, but then his face softens and he sighs. "Can I sit down? Room is spinning," he says, sounding less slurred now and more just tired. Louis nods, following Harry to the couch. He sits down against the arm and curls his knees up to his chest. Harry sits in the middle, legs spread slightly in front of him with his feet flat on the ground and his elbows resting on them with his shoulders hunched and head dropped forward.

They don't talk for a while. Louis doesn't know how long because time is still wobbly, but it's long enough that his shoulders start to cramp from the tight ball he's folded himself into.

"Why don't you ever come out with me?" Harry asks finally, breaking the silence.

Louis shrugs. Because it hurts to watch Harry mack on every girl that makes eyes with him. Because he can't drink too much or he'll start dancing with dudes. Because he can't let his guard down for an instant around Harry or he's going to do something he regrets. Something that changes everything forever.

"Don't like clubs," he says instead.

Harry frowns. "We could do something else. Like. Dinner or something. Go to a concert. Incognito. No paps."

Louis looks over at Harry, who's still staring at the floor, fingers massaging his temples. Louis frowns.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut. "Sorry, dumb idea," he mutters.

Louis doesn't think it's a dumb idea. Honestly it sounds amazing. What he wouldn't give to do those things with Harry. Those things which are most definitely dates, but Harry doesn't even realize, because he's Harry, and he's the most oblivious straight boy on the planet. L

ouis bites his lip. "Not dumb," he says finally.

Harry looks over at him now. His eyes are red and Louis can't tell if it's from the drinking or something else. Louis kicks out his foot to nudge Harry's thigh.

"I want that," he says. There's an unspoken 'but' dangling in the air between them.

Harry's brow unfurrows slowly. "Okay then. Dinner. Tomorrow. Just me and you. No management, no media."

Louis can't tell whether this is a terrible idea or not, but he also can't say no. So he nods. "Okay."

Suddenly Harry goes pale, eyes glazed. Louis knows that look all too well. He barely is able to point Harry towards the bathroom before he's heaving, scrambling up and pressing his hand over his mouth. He just makes it to the toilet before he's puking his guts up. Louis is there steps behind him, reaching forward to pull Harry's long hair back from his face, twisting his curls around his fingers as he rubs the boy's back. Harry's hugging the toilet bowl and groaning. When there's nothing left to hurl up, he collapses back against Louis, eyes squeezed shut and apologies tumbling from his lips. Louis just shakes his head and gets his hands under Harry's arms to lift him up, wetting a towel to clean him off and then guiding him back towards his bedroom.

Harry falls asleep the minute he hits the mattress, and Louis pulls the covers up over him, before curling up on the other side of the bed, facing away from him.

\--

When Louis wakes up the next morning, Harry is gone, and he's not surprised at all. He scrubs his palms into his eyes, working the grogginess out, then tugs on a beanie over his mussed up hair and goes out into the living room. Zayn's sitting on the couch grinning and bouncing like he just won the lottery, eyes wide and hopeful.

He almost feels bad when he shakes his head and Zayn's face falls, mouth tugging into a concerned frown.

"I should have known when I saw him walk-of-shaming it out of here..." Zayn mutters.

"When did he leave?" Louis asks.

Zayn shrugs. "'Bout 10 minutes ago?"

Louis leans back against the wall, head thunking back defeatedly.

"Guess dinner tonight was just a pipe dream," he muses out loud, not even able to muster up disappointment anymore.

He goes through the rest of his day pretending like nothing happen. He showers, throws on sweats and a long sleeved tee and does some grocery shopping before heading out to the park to kick a football around with some of the local kids. He comes back around five and showers again, then checks his phone for the first time all day. His brows arch at the nine text notifications and three missed calls. No voicemails though. He swipes his thumb across the screen to read the texts.

"Hey. Sorry I ran out. Had a meeting and didn't want to smell like a distillery."

"Thanks for taking care of me."

"I owe you."

"Lou, you there?"

"Are we still on for dinner?"

"I made reservations. That Italian place you like."

"I can meet you at your place at 6?"

"Louis? Are you mad at me?"

"Is 6 okay..?"

It takes him a moment to actually get over his shock that Harry remembered, and still wants to do dinner, and even picked Louis' favorite restaurant. The most recent text was about twenty minutes ago and Louis curses to himself. He quickly types a reply, hoping he's not too late.

"Yeah, 6 is good. Sorry, didn't have my phone with me all day. I'm not mad. You feeling okay?"

Harry's reply is almost instantaneous and Louis feels a swell of something warm in his belly.

"I'm good. Stole some of your Advil and an orange juice before I left. See you at 6."

Louis realizes he now has about fifteen minutes to get ready, and 'panic' becomes the understatement of the decade. He fights with his hair for about 10 of those minutes, but just can't get that soft tousled look he's going for so he ends up gelling it back and grabbing a pair of clean black jeans, slim fitting but not skintight, and a cream pullover sweater.

Harry arrives at six on the dot, which throws Louis off a little. He'd budgeted for at least five minutes of waiting anxiously for the boy who is consistently late. But the knock on the door startles him into action, which is good because now he doesn't have time to stew and get nervous. He opens the door for Harry, who looks a little out of breath, like he ran in from his car. Louis feels a smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey," they both say at the same time. Harry is wearing a soft printed button up and tight jeans tucked into low boots. His hair is a little unruly, but it looks charming instead of hobo-ish. Louis wants to tell him that but he bites his tongue. This isn't a date, he reminds himself. He grabs his wallet and phone from the table near the door and shoves them into his back pockets.

"Ready," he says, and Harry smiles, running a hand through his hair. Then his face falls just a little.

"I'm really sorry about last night," he says, tugging his lips between his teeth.

Louis shakes his head. "It's okay. I've seen worse," he shrugs. Honestly he would take care of Harry for the rest of his life if he was allowed to. Even if Harry puked on him every day of the week it wouldn't change how he felt about the boy. Harry looks sheepish.

"Yeah, from me," he grimaces, but Louis just shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it. Seriously," he says, and Harry nods shortly and they move on, walking down the hall away from Louis' apartment.

The drive to the restaurant is relatively short, and they cover most of the basic small talk topics on the way. Harry holds the door open for Louis when they get there, and Louis has no idea what to make of that. Thankfully he doesn't pull his chair out for him though, or Louis might have freaked out and accused a pod person of having taken Harry's place.

They're halfway through a bottle of wine when Harry clears his throat. Louis looks up at him over his glass with slightly arched brows.

"So this is nice, right?" Harry asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Louis nods slowly, brows furrowing now. He sets his glass down on the table, keeping his fingers around the stem for something to do with them.

"Not awkward?" Harry continues.

"Not awkward," Louis agrees.

"Okay, good." Harry looks back down at his menu, a look of consternation on his face.

Louis isn't quite sure what that's about, but then his phone buzzes on the table and they both look at it. Louis is about to ignore it, but the text message notification says it's from Zayn, and Harry can read that and would probably think it was weird if Louis didn't answer his best friend.

"What'd he say?" Harry asks as Louis swipes his phone screen to read the text.

"He ah, wants to know how our 'date' is going," Louis says with a chuckle. He quickly types a response, looking down at his phone, but he can sense Harry getting a little agitated in his seat.

"What'd you say back?" he asks, slower this time.

Louis recites what he's written. "Not a date. Going well."

Harry bites his lip, frowning. "Okay."

They lapse into their first awkward silence of the night and Louis wonders what he's said wrong to change the mood between them.

Louis reads his menu like it's a New York Times best seller. When the waiter comes the both order chicken carbonara and their eyes meet across the table, both making the same expression, lips pressed together and trying not to laugh. Louis cracks first, grin widening as he shakes his head. As soon as Louis laughs, Harry loses it, smiling, all teeth and dimples, and runs his hands through his long messy curls.

"You owe me a soda," he says when he's finally stopped laughing, and it sets Louis off again. When they both finally sober, they end up staring at each other across the table. Harry's brow is furrowed, and Louis tugs his lower lip between his teeth.

"Everything okay?" Louis asks finally. Harry sighs and his eyes flick down towards his hands.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Louis, of all people, knows that those two words are the most told lie in the English language. He sucks in a breath and let's it out through his nose. "You're not," he says, and it's not a question this time.

Harry swallows. "I'm not."

There's silence again and Louis' brow furrows, eyes worried. Harry fidgets a little in his seat.

"Tell me," Louis pleads.

Harry shakes his head. "I don't want to. It's stupid. You'll laugh."

Louis' furrow turns into a full frown. "You know I won't. You know I'd never make fun of you."

Harry still doesn't say anything, but he runs his hand through his hair again and then chews on his thumbnail.

"Kindawantedthistobeadate," he blurts all in a rush.

Louis' eyes go wide, convinced that he's heard him wrong.

"What?" he asks dumbly.

Harry goes crimson, shaking his head. He's not repeating it.

"Why didn't you say that before?" Louis asks, softer now, hesitantly, because he's still halfway convinced this is a dream.

Harry looks up at him through a veil of hair.

"Thought you'd say no."

Suddenly the ridiculousness of the situation hits Louis with full force. He can't help the bleat of laughter that escapes him. Harry looks injured.

"You said you wouldn't laugh--" he whines.

Louis shakes his head. "Not laughing at you. Laughing at how freaking ironic this is."

Now Harry's look is pure confusion.

Louis groans. "Been in love with you since the X Factor, you precious idiot."

Harry stares.

"Nuh uh. You never-- You and Eleanor--"

Now Louis stares, completely incredulous. "I thought the whole band knew she was a beard. Modest _pays_ her, Harry. Pays her because apparently the world isn't ready for a gay guy to be in a boyband, which is fucking ridiculous, because I'm pretty sure 90% of boybands are gay, but anyway the point is I like dudes. Particularly of the oblivious brunet variety. And if you're telling me that you've liked me this whole time and haven't said anything, I'm going to smack you."

"I was trying to be subtle..." Harry mumbles, cheeks crimson.

Louis drops his head to thud against his palm. "Subtlety. Really Harold. Four bloody years wasted..."

He's still shaking his head in amusement when Harry lunges across the table and presses his lips to his.

Looks like they're not being subtle anymore.


End file.
